


To fight when you feel like flying (Skydive)

by ellievolia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievolia/pseuds/ellievolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek grows wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To fight when you feel like flying (Skydive)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a ton to Aiofe and Lisa for the support with this :). A self-indulgent little story; I haven't written in this fandom for a long time. Any mistakes are mine.

It’s a gradual thing. The pain is not unlike anything Derek has ever felt - he’s used to bones and muscles shifting. But this time there’s no rush of adrenaline when it happens. It’s only pain, waking him straight up at night and rushing cold and unwieldy down his spine. 

He checks his back the first time it happens, but there’s nothing there; maybe some slight red patches by his shoulderblades. But it happens again, and again, usually around the same time: just when Derek manages to _really_ fall asleep.

The second day, the red patches are bruises. On the third, they are large bruises, all the way down to the middle of his back. 

The bony stumps break through the skin on the fifth day, tender when Derek tentatively touches them. They hurt more than anything else, and it’s not a pain that goes away - Derek doesn’t heal. It just gets worse, and by the eight day, he’s got these oddly shaped fingers of bones protruding from his shoulders, growing and growing, until Derek can’t hide them under a shirt anymore - he has no control over them, can’t make them move, fold, open up further. He can only _take it_ and have no control over it. It drives him crazy.

The feathers start appearing on the eleventh day. 

;;

Derek doesn’t call Stiles - he doesn’t call anyone, even if he knows he should get in touch with Deaton. But Stiles shows up, going off about Scott needing help the second he steps into Derek’s loft.

Stiles shows up when Derek wants to see no one and hear nothing, forget about the outside world - and Stiles falls dead silent. 

Derek can’t hide.

;;

Derek breathes out, a sigh-like sound that rushes down his chest as he bows his head, closes his eyes. 

“Derek -” Stiles starts, but then stops. Derek can just imagine how it looks like; broken skin and blood smeared down Derek’s spine, and the wings. They’re casting a shadow around Derek, blocking out the light, and for that he is grateful - he doesn’t want anyone to see the tears in his eyes. 

The wings are big, black, and fuck with Derek’s balance. Their weight makes him unsteady. He clenches his jaw not to say just how much he _hates them_ , how tired he is. 

When Stiles reaches out and brushes his fingers along the edges of Derek’s left wing, Derek flinches, closing his eyes even tighter, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“Beautiful,” Stiles murmurs, sounding in awe, and Derek looks at him over his shoulder. Stiles’ eyes are wide open, his lips parted, and he looks lost in wonder. It might be the first time that Derek has seen him look speechless, but of course, it doesn’t last.

“My mom used to talk about angels,” Stiles says, his eyes roaming over Derek’s back and the wings. “She used to say they were all around us, not just in Heaven. She didn’t really believe in Heaven.”

“I’m not an angel, Stiles,” Derek says gruffly, and Stiles snorts. 

“I know that, believe me. Can you - move them?”

Derek tries again; closes his eyes and focuses on the wings. He can’t, though - it’s like being at the very end of a cliff, but not managing to tip over. “No,” he says after a minute, strained. He turns around, and watches Stiles duck under his left wing, his eyes wide. He smiles suddenly, but it looks a little broken, and Derek doesn’t know what to say. “Sorry,” he mutters, and Stiles’ shrugs.

“S’okay. We can get you to learn how to use them. They’re holding themselves up over your back, so surely there are muscles there. You’ve never had to use them before, so you’ve got to learn. We’ll get you there, Derek.”

;;

Deaton doesn’t have anything to say about it. He’s never witnessed this before, he says, eyes glued to Derek’s wings, but he’ll look into it. They’ll sort it out, he promises.

;;

After sleeping - which doesn’t happen all that much - the worst is showering. Even as Derek starts getting some control over the wings, thanks to trying a lot and Stiles being insufferably cheerful and motivating, they’re always in his way. At first, he couldn’t even get into the shower, and had to forego the stall for washing up at the sink in the bathroom, but once he got to fold them, he tried the shower again. 

But waterlogged wings are _heavy_ , and even harder to work with than when they're dry.

He feels like an idiot when he texts Stiles, but doesn't ask for help until Stiles gets here. "Hey, what's up?" 

"I -" Derek sighs, before holding up a hair dryer. "I tried to take a shower. I mean, I took a shower, and I couldn't get them out of the way enough." 

Stiles steps closer with no hesitation and grabs the hair dryer. "It's going to take weeks to dry otherwise. Might even turn green," he says with a smirk. Derek rolls his eyes, but let's Stiles run the hair dryer over his wings, carefully over and in between feathers. His fingers are soft, sure, and Derek lets his eyes drop closed. The feathers are incredibly sensitive. 

It takes all of his willpower not to groan at Stiles' touch. 

;;

"Okay, show me," Stiles asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Derek takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and focuses on the wings, on getting them to move. 

They shift, moving along his back. Sweat beads along his brow, but the wings move, and Derek realises he's been holding out his breath. 

"Okay, Derek, hey, come back to me," he hears Stiles say. "Come on, breathe for me, Derek, breathe." 

Derek opens his eyes and breathes, slow and deep. He releases his focus, the tension ebbing away from his shoulder blades. 

"Good, you're doing so well, now you just have to learn how to do it while still breathing, and you'll be golden."

Derek smiles. 

;;

By week three of having the wings, fully grown and keeping him from leaving the loft, Derek is able to fold them against his back, and then spread them wide open. He doesn't have a full range of movement yet, but he's getting closer. 

When he folds them, they fit just right against his back, tapering down along his back to rest against his spine, just over the swell of his ass. 

His usual shirts don't cover them, but his bigger jumpers fit him still, and suddenly, he's getting a part of his life back. 

;;

"So can you fly yet?"

Derek looks up at Stiles, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think?" 

"I think if you could, you'd be flying right now. I know I would be, like, flying all over the city and getting myself some spanx pants." 

Derek's eyebrows just move higher and higher up his forehead as Stiles talks, animated and amused, eyes glinting in the drab dim light of Derek's loft. Stiles just barrels on, his hands moving all over the table. 

"You need a superhero name for when you start flying! The Flying Wolf, doesn't that sound cool? It's definitely better than a flying - "

Derek cuts him off with a kiss. It's chaste, a dry press of lips, and it's over in a second, but it shuts Stiles right up. When Derek pulls away, Stiles has his eyes closed, his eyebrows up in surprise. 

"What - was that?" 

Stiles blinks his eyes open, lips still parted. He looks confused, but he's smiling. Derek shrugs, replying with a smile of his own. "Just. Thank you." 

"You're welcome."

;;

“So where are you with this? Has Deaton made any progress?” 

Scott is sitting on top of the table in the back of Derek’s loft, his feet dangling. Their lives have been surprisingly calm recently - which Derek is thankful for, and not just because of his own situation. Scott has a lot on his plate. At least Derek was given some time to mourn his family after the fire. He’s not sure Scott has had a minute for himself to mourn Allison. 

He makes the wings flutter a little, a gust of wind that ruffles Scott’s hair. “No, nothing yet,” he replies. 

“How are you holding up?” Scott asks, because he is an Alpha now. He’s an Alpha through and through, so much better at it than Derek himself ever was. 

“I’m okay, Scott,” Derek says, voice soft, and he’s surprised at how genuine the words feel. He’s okay with this. The bigger the wings grew, the less Derek could use his werewolf powers and senses, but something else seemed to grow along with them. Like self-control, self-awareness. 

He doesn’t really feel helpless anymore, not like he did at the very beginning. And most importantly, he doesn’t feel _alone_.

;;

Derek can’t sleep. He has to lie on his stomach, and it’s uncomfortable; neither folding nor spreading the wings seem to do the trick, either. He’s tense, there are knots between his shoulders, and usually he ends up passing out for a couple of hours due to sheer exhaustion, up again too fast. There are dark circles around his eyes. 

“Do you sleep?” Stiles asks him one evening, and Derek throws him a look.

“Not much.”

“Is it the wings?”

“Yeah.”

“Must be hell on your back.”

Derek shrugs. Stiles rubs his hands together, biting his bottom lip. “Okay, can I try something? You can tell me to fuck off if you want, but I think it could help. I used to do it with Scott - don’t give me that look,” he says when Derek raises an eyebrow at him. 

Derek has reached this point of tiredness where anything and everything sounds like a good plan. “Fine,” he says, shrugging, and Stiles grin.

“Okay, go lie down.”

Under any other circumstances, Derek would be suspicious - lying down on his stomach leaves him scarily exposed, which doesn’t help the sleep thing. He’s slower to move around and get up, too, especially if the wings are open. But it’s Stiles, and if Stiles had wanted to hurt him, he would have had plenty of chances since Derek - since he sprouted wings.

Begrudgingly curious, Derek goes, wings folded down along his arms as he lies down, head turned to be able to see Stiles approach. The bed dips with Stiles’ weight, and Derek watches him shuffle closer. 

He takes a sharp breath when Stiles drops a hand on his back, between the wings. Stiles’ hand is warm, Derek can feel it through the thin layer of his tank - the only shirts he can wear and not rip apart because of his wings. 

“What -”

“Hey, shh,” Stiles says, voice low. Derek feels like he should want to squirm away, but surprisingly, instead, he relaxes. He’s reminded of their kiss, so chaste and brief, and how they never talked about it. He doesn’t feel like they have to. 

Stiles moves closer, utting both of his hands on Derek, and massaging his shoulders. His touch is precise and firm, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and Derek relaxes some more, in increments, allowing his eyes to close. He’s - safe, as strange as it is to think. He realizes he’s safe, and there’s only a very small chance that the world is going to explode over their heads right now, so he can allow himself this. He can allow Stiles touching him like this, confident, long fingers pressing into the knots of tension along Derek’s spine, until he coaxes groans out of Derek. It feels good, so good, Derek fists his hands in his bedsheets and breathes deeply, biting the inside of his lips. 

Stiles, above him, is quiet and intent. He doesn’t stop moving his hands, putting more pressure on some parts of Derek’s back. 

Derek falls asleep with Stiles’ palms over his shoulders.

;;

It’s three months after Derek’s got his first feathers that he manages to fly for the first time. It’s not much, just a few feet off the ground, and he falls back onto it barely a few seconds in, but still. He’s _flying_.

;;

Derek’s situation stays the same, month after month. He’s not getting his claws or strength back, and he’s got the wings on his back. It’s easier to work with them now but, still, he checks up with Deaton regularly, just to make sure there’s no news. 

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Deaton says, time after time.

Derek learns how to use guns, because he still wants to be helpful to Scott - to his pack. He doesn’t like it, but there’s something about being up in the air, a gun in each hand, looming over threats in a way that puts the fear of God in some people. There’s definitely something about it. 

;;

Of course, life wouldn't do Derek a kindness and stay quiet while he gets used to his new worldview. 

And it all comes to a head on a Tuesday afternoon, in yet another abandoned warehouse. 

Scott is crouched by Derek, Isaac and Liam flanking him. Derek's got his arms out, his guns blazing as a bunch of werewolves circle him. Kira is unconscious in Stiles’ arms, the two of them hidden away in the protective circle of Derek’s wings, thrown out in front of him to keep them as safe as he can. 

Derek is shot - his left wing bone bleeding sluggishly, but they get the upper hand, and the werewolves disperse, after what feels like hours. 

He opens his wings, letting them droop, the left one hanging lower than the right. He winces, every time he moves. It hurts - it hurts more than anything ever has. Stiles' fingers are bright with blood where he's tried to plug the hole in Derek's wing bone.

;;

Deaton patches Derek up as well as he can, while Stiles sleeps in a chair in a corner of the office. 

“I’m not used to wings,” Deaton says as he bandages the bullet hole. “I’m better with furry creatures,” he ends with a smirk, and Derek snorts, looking away from the blood caking his feathers. 

“We all are.”

“Derek, we’ll find a way to sort this out. We’ll get it, and you’ll be back to normal.”

Derek appreciates the reassurance, even if he’s not sure he believes it anymore. Sometimes, he’s not even sure he _wants_ to be back to normal. 

He’s not going to tell Deaton that, though. 

;;

The second, third, fourth times Stiles and Derek kissed, it’s all been in life-or-death situations. The kind of evening where not doing it could mean never getting the chance to do it ever again. Urgent, crazed, freaked out. 

But the fifth time, they have the illusion of all the time in the world. Dawn is breaking over Beacon Hills in a watery grey light, and Stiles grips onto Derek’s waist and his wing as he pulls him closer, groans into Derek’s mouth. 

Derek undresses Stiles slowly, with purpose, lays him out on his bed and thinks crazy thoughts about the softness of Stiles’ skin and the intent in his eyes. And Stiles - Stiles laughs, Stiles is ticklish, Stiles discards Derek’s clothes and digs his fingertips in Derek’s ribs, pressing pushing pulling him in. 

“Are you joking? You must be joking,” Stiles says breathlessly when Derek kneels between Stiles’ legs, Stiles’ cock in his hand. 

“Stiles, you know I have no sense of humor,” Derek replies, leaning down to lick at the tip of Stiles’ cock, free hand pressing Stiles’ hip against his mattress. Stiles gasps, writhing under Derek’s fingers.

“You’re not joking. Oh my fucking god, you’re not joking.”

Derek smirks and leans back down, listening to every one of Stiles’ noises, at first muffled against the back of his hand. 

He makes Stiles come over his own chest and over Derek’s lips and cheeks, too, which earns Derek a look of pure filth, mixed with youthful admiration. He kisses the taste of himself off Derek’s lips enthusiastically, fingers gripping a bunch of Derek’s feathers.

Derek fucks into Stiles and it’s like his whole body is on fire, licking up his veins to every one of his nerve-endings. Stiles grins, leaves bruises all over Derek with his hands and his mouth, arching into Derek’s thrusts, the lines and angles of his body insane, broken, perfect. 

Derek almost expects his wings to spread wide open when he comes, but they don’t. He holds onto Stiles and kisses the edge of his collarbone, bites into it without fearing that his fangs will come out. Stiles cards his fingers through Derek’s hair, and chuckles to himself.

“What?”

“Next time, I fuck you.”

Derek smiles, brushing his nose along Stiles’. “Okay.”

;;

Six months in, the weight of the wings on Derek’s shoulders is now a habit, a familiar feeling that is nothing like discomfort anymore. The wings have grown to be a part of him, an extension of himself that he understands, can work with. 

He’s never had to do this before, learn how to be something else; a born werewolf, he’s always had the instinct and his family to teach him. But this was different, a different kind of growing process, of learning process. He feels closer to Scott for it.

;;

“Do you miss being a werewolf? I imagine you do, but do you like the wings? It’s been a while now, like eight months or something, so you must be used to them now, right? But do you miss the fangs and the claws?”

Derek looks up from his plate of pasta, giving Stiles half a second to decide if he’s got anything else to add, but Stiles just looks at him, chewing. 

“I do,” Derek says, smirking when Stiles raises an eyebrow.”I’ve been a werewolf for 25 years, Stiles, of course I miss it.”

“But you like the wings?”

Derek throws them a look. He’s got a scar where he was shot, starkly visible on the wing bone. He smiles, twirling pasta around his fork. His wings are pretty damn beautiful. “Yeah, I do.”

;;

Derek celebrates his first year with wings by going on a flight. It’s kind of powerful, the way the wind blows through his feathers, the way he can control how high or fast he goes with just minute moves. It’s a heady feeling to look down at the city, glittering lights like the ocean underneath him, going on forever.

It’s the first time he ever thinks he’s lucky, really lucky; with the wings, with Stiles, with Scott, with the pack. It felt like a curse, then it felt like a burden. It took time for this new state of life to feel less like an obligation and more like a pleasure, but Derek got there, in no small part thanks to Stiles and Scott. 

It’s like having a family back, like having a purpose again. Derek fell in love with a group of mismatched people, then fell in love with Stiles. After that, it was easy for Derek to love himself again.

;;

The End


End file.
